


The Hook-Up

by FabulaRasa



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman has a little trouble connecting the Watchtower's new television.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hook-Up

"The yellow cable, I think."

"You think? You don't know?"

Batman's growl at that made Hal's grin wider. "I'm just saying," Hal continued. "For someone with your technical know-how, watching you fumble hooking up a TV is, I gotta say, pretty disheartening. Also a bit worrisome, considering we are floating through space on a tricked-out billion-dollar satellite designed to your specs, and you're not sure where the yellow cable goes."

"Hand me," Batman said through gritted teeth, "the yellow cable. Before I wrap it around your neck."

"Touchy," Hal said. "CTFD."

Something distinctly akin to a strangled death rattle emerged from the back of the giant flatscreen. Only legs and boots were visible. "Calm the fuck down," Hal supplied. "A useful mantra, for someone such as yourself."

"My anger—" there was the sound of grunting as Batman tried to maneuver a cable into position—"is perfectly under control. You're still alive, after all."

"Another razor-sharp retort. Red next."

"I KNOW that."

"You know, if this is too challenging, we could always get one of the techs to come do it. I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"I don't require any help. This is a complex bit of technology, and it just needs a little concentration."

"It's a television. Honestly, what the fuck are you doing back there, interpretive dance?"

An Allen wrench went flying, and Hal ducked. "Okay, okay, keep it tucked in your codpiece. Perhaps I neglected to say how grateful the whole League is that you're installing this in the common room, and how much fun we're all going to have on movie night together. Okay? Happy now? Also, you have an extra cable sticking out."

A hand snatched it back, and Hal wisely subsided into silence as Batman worked. Well, silence for a minute or so, anyway. He was flipping through the instruction manual, wondering whether he should point out they had reversed the order the cables were supposed to go, or if he should just sit on that little bit of knowledge. He laughed when he turned the next page.

"This thing reads like it was translated out of Mandarin by a speaker of Serbo-Croatian. 'Press using manual energy the power of HDTV.' What the fuck. Do you think they mean turn the power on?"

Another grunt, but no flying wrenches, so Hal was undeterred. "I think they could have benefited from some copy editors, is all I'm saying. Some of this stuff reads like a bad porno. 'If you cannot achieve desired signal depth, extend antenna further.' Yeah, I'll achieve your signal depth, baby. Tell you what, I'm just gonna sit here and read this whole thing in my sex voice."

That got him not an imagined glare, but a real one, as Batman stuck his head around the edge of the shiny black screen and scowled at him. Bruce now, actually, because the cowl was pushed back and his hair was sweaty and sticking out in places. "Is there any chance," he said, "you are going to shut up anytime soon?"

"Is there any chance you're going to finish anytime soon? Wait—I bet you get that a lot, huh."

"Hand me the coaxial," Bruce said, and those eyes were dangerously narrowed. Hal complied. He stretched out on the floor and studied the ceiling. 

"You have to admit it is kind of funny," he said. "The engineering genius defeated by Target's appliance department."

"For your information," Bruce said, "this did not come from Target. You might be surprised to learn that you can't buy a TV from a store and expect it to work on a satellite hurtling through space. This is actually complex."

"Okay," Hal said skeptically. "I just thought that engineering degree from the Sorbonne had to be good for something." 

There was a snort, and Hal smiled. He had had quite a bit of fun, googling Bruce Wayne a few months back, learning everything he could. The best stuff had taken a bit of digging, but it was there to be found. "Oh come on," he said. "If I had a degree like that, I'd staple it to my forehead. You should show it off more. Though what am I doing, saying that to Batman of all people."

"My degree isn't actually in engineering."

"Really? I guess I just assumed. What's it in?"

"A. . . related field."

Only someone who had spent the last few months studying Bruce Wayne pretty carefully would have caught the hesitation. You had to know the man to understand his speech patterns, which were distinctive, but consistent. Call it a space cop's instinct, but he knew what to listen for. "Related how?"

"Related enough."

Hal propped on an elbow. "No, seriously, what in?"

"It's not important. Hand me the blue cable, and I think we're done."

"Nuh uh, not until you tell me what your degree's in."

There was a lengthy sigh. "I suppose telling you not to make a big deal of this would be pointless."

"Probably. What in?"

Bruce sat up and crawled out from behind the TV, toeing aside the bits of plastic and wrapping they had discarded. "Like I said, a related field."

"And like I said, what in?"

Bruce gave another sigh. "Nineteenth-century French literature."

Hal just blinked at him. "You. . . what? How the fuck is that related to engineering?"

"It's—"

But it was too late. Hal rolled over and gave himself to the laugh that would no longer be staved off. He couldn't stop thinking about Bruce's earnest scowl bent over a copy of Madame Bovary. 

"For God's sake," Bruce said. "You're a disgrace."

He tried to stop laughing, but couldn't. "Wait wait," he said. "Somewhere in Wayne Manor is a CD of Les Mis in the original French, right? And you sing to it in the Batcave? Come on, you can tell me. I can hear the _peuple_ sing."

"It does happen to be a related field. My thesis was on the scientific fantasy of Jules Verne and its connection to contemporary engineering advances, which Verne in many cases anticipated. His sketchbooks reveal he spent at least as much time researching the inventions he wrote about as constructing plot. Verne is under-rated, largely because of morons like you."

"Sure," said Hal. "But I bet my ass it wouldn't take me forty minutes to hook up a TV." He rose lightly, and glanced at the flat black screen that stretched some eight feet across. "Any idea if it works?"

Bruce clicked the remote and the screen pulsed with blue light. Another click, and the latest episode of _True Life_ blazed to inglorious reality, fortunately without sound. Bruce clicked the menu, and the episode options and titles appeared: _I Have an Embarrassing Medical Condition, I Have Embarrassing Parents, I Have an Embarrassing Pomeranian_. "Here you go," Bruce said, selecting one and tossing the remote Hal's direction. "Looks right for you."

 _I Have an Embarrassing Boyfriend_ , scrolled the episode tag. Bruce was walking out, pulling his cowl back down the way he always did.

"Hey," Hal said. "That. . . could be taken a number of different ways." But Bruce was already out the door.

"Not unlike me," Hal muttered, and settled in to watch.

* * *

First movie night on the Watchtower was a huge success, from Hal's point of view. For one thing, he had actually strong-armed everyone into attending, though he suspected Batman had shown up just to make sure no one damaged his equipment or managed to touch the remote the entire night. 

"All right, line 'em up," Barry said, staking his claim to the corner of the enormous sofa and stretching out his legs. "What've you got for us?"

"I love a good documentary," Clark said, and Hal caught the widened terror of Shazam's eyes.

"No way, man," he said. "No way am I sitting through a flipping documentary. Or black and white. Nothing like that, right?"

"Relax," Hal said. "Jesus, sometimes you've got the attention span of a gnat. Also, good for you for your devotion to duty and all that, but this is supposed to be casual night, no uniforms allowed."

"Oh." Shazam looked a little shifty-eyed at Vic. "Well. . . all my other clothes were dirty."

"Strangely, I have no trouble believing that. Okay, listen up guys, I picked a good one. You're all gonna love this one. Vic, if you don't like it, no fair watching something else on your lens screens."

"Why, what would you care? It's not like you could see it."

"It's the principle of the thing," Hal insisted. "This is about, you know, team building. Togetherness."

"This is about Hal inflicting his terrible taste in movies on fresh victims," Barry said. Diana settled in next to him, and Hal caught the way Clark eased himself a bit closer, masking it with a stretch. Most transparent move ever.

"I am eager to experience this 'movie night' I have read so much about," Diana was saying. "And I for one think increasing our ability to work as a team is an excellent idea. Will there be fight scenes whose strategy we can study? Perhaps I should write down what moves I find especially effective?"

"Um, sure," Hal said. Bruce was still jealously guarding the remote, sitting silently on the couch's opposite corner, a cloud of surly in a black turtleneck. How the man could wear casual clothes and somehow still look encased in armor was a mystery to Hal. "I mean, there might be some fight scenes, yeah. Anyway, the point is, it's a classic, and I think you are all gonna love this one. Bruce, hit play." 

They sat in stunned silence as the initial credits began to roll. 

"Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea?" Barry asked, turning outraged eyes on him. " _This_ is what you pick for our first movie night? Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Are there monsters?" Shazam asked hopefully.

"There's a giant squid," Hal assured him.

"Come on, man," Vic protested. "This thing was made in the 40s or something."

"Fifty-six," Hal said. "And this is a classic. Come on, Kirk Douglas! And Peter Lorre—you cannot be throwing shade at Peter Lorre. I'm telling you, this movie has it all—sea monsters, submarines, fighting, adventure. . . even some classic bromance."

"Do you mean this movie's _gay?_ " Shazam asked, and every head but Bruce's turned in shock. "Not that that's a bad thing," he finished lamely. 

"Hal, I think I speak for everyone here when I say this looks like the most boring movie in the entire world," Barry said. 

"Give it a chance, you uncultured swine," Hal said. "Did you know Jules Verne was actually one of the first to come up with a workable submersive design for a large-scale submarine? His sketches of how to use air channels around the hull of the vessel were used as schematics for almost seventy years, by navies around the world. Even better, Nemo's hatred of weapons and artillery is all about the nineteenth century's anxiety over the inherent violence and instability of human society, which Nemo completely removes himself from. So, you know, relevant. Plus Kirk Douglas, did I mention? Now shut up, you're gonna miss the best part."

There was a collective groan, but they settled in—Clark settling rather more than other people, and settling distinctly in Diana's direction, who settled back quite a bit. Barry tipped his head back and blatantly began napping. Billy was actually the most into it—sitting on the edge of his seat, shouting encouragement at the actors (and the squid), and exclaiming "Cool!" every five seconds. After a few minutes Hal got up and ducked into the little kitchen off the common room to make some popcorn. He was unsurprised to look up and find Bruce standing in the doorway, looking at him.

"You read my thesis," he said quietly.

"Yep."

"It's behind a paywall, at the Sorbonne's site."

"Everything's hackable."

"It's in French."

"Yeah, weird, huh. Wonder how a moron like me ever managed to learn French." He tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Bruce was watching him. 

"Finish your popcorn," he said.

"Why's that?"

Bruce set the bowl carefully to one side. "So that I can do this." 

And he leaned in, and stopped. Stopped a centimeter away, so Hal felt the warmness of his breath. Asking permission, Hal realized, and then Hal leaned in ever so slightly and caught Bruce's lips in his. They were kissing, standing there next to the microwave and the buttered popcorn, and Hal's brain said _do not groan and crush him into your body you giant fucking idiot do not do not do NOT do that thing_ which was totally unnecessary, because that was exactly what Bruce did. 

"Hey c'mon Hal," Barry called from the next room. "This is the best part."

"I know," Hal said, and he felt the slow smile of Bruce's lips against his own.


End file.
